


Swangin'

by p0lluxe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, gay skeletons, papyton 30's gangster au, probably the weirdest thing I've written ever, send me more requests like this please I'll do it for free, thank you cameron for the idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8510293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0lluxe/pseuds/p0lluxe
Summary: boy oh boy if it isnt the roarin 20's-30's





	

“I don’t believe in ghosts.” Papyrus shifted his gaze away from the silhouetted figure standing a few yards away from him. The alley was shrouded in shadow, the nearest streetlamp shattered, likely the target of a drunken toss of emptied bottle or some other makeshift missile. The only heat or color was the steady glow of the end of his cigar. His breath steamed silently in the frozen air as he glared at the figure. Little slut had been bothering him for the past few minutes. Usually he would have welcomed the chance to score, but there was something up with the dame.  
At least, he was pretty sure it was a dame. The slim torso and broad hips spoke of femininity, but the flatness of the chest and smooth, low cadence of the voice gave little away. Papyrus couldn’t make out color or pattern, either.  
The city life sounded muted, strange and alien in the blue November dark. The only sounds were the slurring, shouting, and scuffling of patrons inside the bar, the back door of which Papyrus leant against.  
“Why not? You’re out so late so often, I find it hard to believe,” the figure waved a hand, pushing back their inky hair, “and so handsome, I’m surprised they don’t come running after you.” The figure walked closer, the slow gait punctuated by the sharp click of heeled boots.  
Who the hell wears heels in three inches of snow?  
Papyrus ground his teeth on his cigar. Most nights, at this hour, especially in the snow, the alley was all but abandoned. Aside from him, of course. This was his usual haunt, outside his usual bar.  
Haunt. I’m goddamn hilarious. Ghosts? What a sack of shit.  
The nearest lights were out, anyway, and it was hard to make out anything. Not that Papyrus minded. Darkness suited him.  
“How would you know shit about me? Get lost. I’m in no mood to deal with you. Who wants to smooch a ghost anyways?”  
They pouted. “Now, is that any way to speak to a gentleman like myself? Besides, nobody said anything about smooching.” Papyrus snorted. “Some gentleman, wearing those shoes in this snow. Do those even fit over your damn legs?” The stranger narrowed his lurid eyes, for now Papyrus was sure that it was no woman leering at him so. “My legs are none of your concern…darling. Why, you’re nothing but skin and bones!” he chuckled lightly at his own joke. Suddenly, his tone darkened slightly, and a grin found its’ way onto his pointed black lips. “Unless, of course, you want a closer look?” He swaggered over to Papyrus, nudging him lightly, pushing him in the chest with two gloved fingers. His eyes never left Papyrus’s own. They glowed just as rosy as Papyrus would like to imagine his own cheekbones were not. He struggled to reply, the stranger too close. “I-wh-erm..” He fell over his own tongue, words filling him utterly. Feeling hardly a part of himself, he simply stared back. The hell am I doing? I feel like a ghost. He laughed at himself. “A ghost…”  
“Hmm? Did you say something, darling?” The stranger had tangled his arms around Papyrus’s neck. Papyrus opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a kiss. He tried to pull away, startled, but the stranger held him in an iron grip. At length, he decided his night would probably be long either way, and closed his eyes. He felt a smirk crawl across the stranger’s face. He pulled away. Lipstick lingered on his teeth. He looked up at the stranger lazily.  
“You got a name, gentleman?” The stranger smiled winningly, the kind of smile that should be on posters.  
“Mettaton! And you, darling, I know you’re Papyrus.”  
“Sorry, how d-” He was cut of once again, by Mettaton’s forceful kiss. A shiver crept down his spine, not from the cold, really. His bones ground together, snaps and pops and oh-so-blissful sounds. He growled, deep in his throat. His eyes lit orange as he cracked them open to stare Mettaton down. His tongue was poking through ebony lips, slick, reflective. Papyrus grew dizzy, lightheaded. Maybe being a ghost isn’t so bad after all…


End file.
